Checkmate
by Slivovitz
Summary: Sequel to King Me. The only one she ever loved, she hated. DMHG oneshot.


**Author's Note:** I had a lot of fun writing _King Me_, and I really wanted to write another one like it, so here's the sequel! In this one, more scenes are from Draco's point of view, so you'll see things more from his standpoint, and his opinions and fears will be the ones dominating this oneshot, not Hermione's. I hope it's alright that I've shifted back and forth between the two of them…I find I love writing Hermione's indecisiveness. Anyway, please enjoy this one, and as always, constructive criticism is welcome :)

The scenes are longer and more intense; the last fic focused mainly on the initial attractions, the floaty bits, the magical shared moments under the blankets of night…this one, instead, will focus on the conflicts between them. But I don't want to give too much away! :)

I finally edited this! I threw the original together in less than a day, but after some heavy editing I think I'm finally happy with the final product. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I've grown rather tired of typing these and wonder if they are truly necessary, but you all quite get the picture.

* * *

**Checkmate**

_Know the right moment._

– _Pittacus_

* * *

They would never know just how long they had sat there, holding each other, sleeping soundly upon each other's shoulders, there on the third-floor corridor. His arm draped around her, his mind half-asleep, his pale fingers casually stroking her hair while she slept. Dawn was coming. Their lit wands cast unneeded light upon the checkerboard in front of them—Malfoy's black pieces were neatly stacked up close to Hermione, as even after nearly a year, he still found it difficult to outwit her.

Malfoy stirred, being a very light sleeper, and gently nudged Hermione awake. He smiled at her, and she smiled at him. Malfoy leaned closer and kissed her softly on the lips. They rested each other's heads upon each other once more and sat there in stillness, taking comfort in each other's peacefulness.

"What comes next?" Hermione finally whispered, her voice barely audible despite the penetrating silence of the hallway.

As an introduction to his response, Malfoy tightened his arm around her shoulder.

Not waiting for an answer, Hermione sat up and began picking up the checker pieces one by one and placing them into her velvet pouch; what should have been a faint '_clink_' as each piece hit the bottom was magnified into a reverberating thunder against the stillness surrounding them.

"Does it matter, Granger?" Draco finally asked, and in his voice only the slightest twinge of desperation was apparent. "Does it really matter what comes next?"

She smiled, though not quite as strongly as she had previously. Finally, when her smile had faded completely and she was left with only the truth to face, she said, "Malfoy, I—I'm still technically with Ron. You know that."

"I can talk to him," Malfoy offered immediately. "I'll tell him I lo—that I hate you more than he ever will. I've talked to him before, if you're scared of him—"

"It isn't _that_," Hermione almost scoffed. "He's my best friend. And—and my…my boyfriend. Malfoy, you know we can't do this. It's just…Merlin, I never thought—"

"—that you'd end up with me."

Hermione bit her lip. "Don't be sensitive _now_, Malfoy. You knew this was going to happen. I shouldn't've led you on. Summer holiday is almost here, we'll go our separate ways, and the checkers games will stop…and so will this."

"It doesn't have to."

"This isn't _real_!" Hermione burst. Her eyes were shining, but she refused to wipe away the tears that had not yet had a chance to form. Her knuckles were white as they clutched the velvet pouch. "You don't even like me! We've hated each other, we—you don't—you think you've found something in me, but trust me, it isn't there!"

His voice has soft yet firm. "Everything's here."

"No," she said sadly, shaking her head furiously, refusing to believe that he believed. "No. Nothing's here."

"Yeah, well, _something's_ here. You're just scared of it."

Her mouth hung slightly ajar as she looked at him, not entirely willing to comprehend what he had just said to her. Could he…did he really think…? She had to stay away from him, and though she'd let her guard down for a few brief, magical moments, they could not be together: this she understood better than any other fact. They were dangerous together; they were perfect together. None of it mattered. She would fall at once under his spell, succumb entirely to him, but in doing so she was putting the both of them in danger. She…she was protecting herself.

But Merlin, she cared for him so incredibly hard.

She looked at Malfoy and saw that he was holding her checkerboard. He attempted a smile, but all that came was a smirk. "I'll walk you to your common room, shall I? Should we start calling each other by our first names? Hermione?"

She hesitated for a brief moment, then, as her heart clenched, she realized what needed to be done. Hermione's heart fell as she accepted the fact that she needed to push him away. What she did next wounded her terribly—her furious glare was unrivaled as she stood up, avoiding his eyes.

And Hermione pushed past him, roughly grabbing the board from him as she passed. She tried not to register the degree of confusion and hurt evident in his eyes. Somehow, she managed to snarl, "In case you've forgotten, _Malfoy_, I'm Head Girl. I don't need an escort."

Malfoy half-snorted, concealing his hurt, masking it with his disgust for himself. Against his better judgment, he called out after her—

"I guess it's true, then, Granger? None of this was real."

She wouldn't look back—she refused to. His repeated calls of her name—Granger, Hermione, whatever—became mere figments of imagination as she expertly blocked them from her mind. She tried to ignore her pounding heart, her throbbing temples. Only after she had turned the corner, walked up the many flights of stairs, and sighted the Fat Lady at the end of the corridor did she let the tears come.

* * *

He had known she was afraid of love, but he never thought she would take it this far.

Couldn't she _feel _it? Couldn't she feel their careless connection, the way somehow their hands had found each other's that night and hung there, the only sound their exhales of breath? The way they ignored each other so deliberately during daylight hours, yet could not help themselves from stealing glances at each other during Advanced Potions? The way she would briefly catch his eye from across the Great Hall, her face still etched with laughter, no doubt from a joke told by Potter or Weasley. The way they could not, _would not _tolerate each other; the way they detested each other, hated each other, yet somehow, he could not seem to function properly without her…

He was sitting in his dormitory, his only comfort the familiar snores of Goyle. He knew morning was almost here, yet being in the dungeons, the only light that flooded the room was the green overcast shadow from the lake. Draco slipped his hand into the pocket of his silk pajamas; his fingers closed around a small plastic disk. Pulling it out, he saw it was Granger's red checker piece. Pensive, he twirled it carelessly around his fingers.

He wasn't sure why he'd taken it. Perhaps he'd felt something as she hurriedly sought to gather all the pieces…perhaps he'd _known_ what she felt, what she was going to say, of what she was so afraid. As she was hunched over dropping the black pieces she'd claimed from Draco into her bag, he'd reached over easily and taken one of the few pieces he'd managed to claim from Granger during their game. She hadn't even noticed.

Now it sat, ever so unsuspecting, in the palm of his hand—cold, like ice.

Without thinking, without a single rational thought floating through his head, Draco pointed his wand nonchalantly at the worthless piece of red plastic and Vanished it into nonbeing.

He realized, of course, that she would discover quite soon that she was missing a piece. She could easily duplicate another; it would be easily replaced…

But her checkers set would never be quite whole again, never quite as correct. She would have all the pieces she needed, yet she would still manage to be missing one, one she didn't think she needed, but one that would exist forever in everything, one that would linger, always, in the air that surrounded Draco, the air he breathed at that very moment.

He supposed he too, similarly, would never be quite right.

"And perhaps everything she said was true," he mused bitterly.

Somewhere in the corner of the room, Crabbe stirred ungracefully in his sleep, and Draco started. The coolly tinted lamps lining the walls gently flickered to life, signaling the beginning of a new day. Draco found himself gazing softly into the exact spot where the checker piece had Vanished.

Daylight had come.

His jaw set and his face washed itself of any readable emotion. Draco shoved a few books in his bag—it didn't matter which ones—and soon his eyes had regained their icy glaze. He slung his bag over his shoulder, exited through the stone door and shut it firmly behind him.

Checkers was for sissy girls, anyway.

* * *

"Malfoy?"

He kept his head down at the sound of her voice and continued slicing the Murtlap tentacles in front of him with careful deliberation. The cauldron in front of him held a rose-colored liquid; it was boiling violently, and a delicate silver smoke was rising all around it. Slughorn passed by his workspace and nodded approvingly.

"Malfoy!"

Draco could not ignore her voice any longer. He forced himself to look up, forced himself to look her in the eyes. She looked back at him, brown boring into grey, biting her lip nervously.

He cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"I-I need to borrow your steel blade. If that's okay."

Draco said nothing but scooped up the sliced tentacles and dropped them into the cauldron, watching as the solution turned forest green. Eyes still focused on the potion, he slid the dagger in her direction.

As Granger's fingers closed around the dagger, Draco turned his body completely away.

Slughorn's voice rose above the mist that was rising from the dozen cauldrons around the room and filling the room. "This potion," he spoke, "will render you emotionless, three hours for every centiliter. It has long been used by those in Magical Law Enforcement to avoid feeling fear on missions. Some use it to enhance their ability to lie. And some…some use it to endure suffering the loss of a loved one."

At his last words, Draco felt Granger's gaze on his. He, too, lifted his eyes, and as they looked at each other, something was understood. Granger placed Draco's dagger gently on the table.

The substance in their cauldrons turned midnight blue at almost exactly the same time; Granger's, much to Draco's disdain, changed hue a split second before his own. They made mirror movements, watching each other from the corner of their eyes, both reaching for their ladles. At precisely the same moment their ladles hit the surface of the liquid, containing some, and they both brought the potion to their lips. As he drank, Draco felt an almost tangible numbness wrap around his heart.

"Hey," whispered Hermione, a drop of the midnight blue liquid still at the corner of her mouth. "I'll always hate you, Malfoy."

"You too, Granger."

When Slughorn had turned his back to his students to write more notes on the blackboard, Draco found himself drinking more.

* * *

Harry and Hermione were sitting on the grounds, both with heavy textbooks on their laps, though neither seemed to be concentrating on their contents. The sun was setting, rendering the two friends mere silhouettes, perfectly formed and impressive against the orange and red skies. Hermione clutched her cloak tighter around her; it was growing cold. Harry tilted his head at her, happily curious.

"I knew it would only be a matter of time," he grinned. "You two are really moving in together after school, then? Brilliant!"

She laughed weakly and nodded. "Yes, it's quite the shock."

"Oi," said Harry, his brow furrowing. "I'm happy for you, Hermione."

"Yes, Harry, I know that. Of course I know that."

"I'm happy for you," he repeated. "Why aren't you happy for yourself?"

Hermione jerked up suddenly, her eyes wide as if Harry had caught her in some embarrassing lie—and perhaps he had. "I don't know what you're talking about," she insisted. "I've liked Ron for…for years…"

"Have you?"

Hermione said nothing and merely looked towards the setting sun.

Harry nodded in understanding and placed his hand upon hers. "Hermione," he said, "We're all going to love you no matter what you choose to do. You won't always be so afraid, you know."

She nodded, hugging her cloak tighter still with her free hand as her other rested in Harry's. She slipped her hand out of Harry's grip, then reached into the pocket of her robes, wrapping her fingers around what she knew to be a small, black, plastic disk, one she had taken from her own set when Malfoy hadn't been looking, one she carried with her shamelessly day after day.

With a slightly embarrassed look, she placed the checker piece in Harry's outstretched palm. He turned it over in his hands, examining it, understood, and then finally placed it into his own pocket. Smiling softly, Harry nodded.

"Ron's my best mate," he said. "But like I said, you won't always be so afraid."

Hermione nodded, trying to believe him. As the sun set more and more, she knew exactly what he was talking about. She just hoped that when the moment arrived to stop being so afraid, she would be strong enough to let go.

* * *

"Here, Hermione, look here," Ron sputtered, his mind racing, "You're not in that bad of a position! Look here, you just take this rook, see? You move it here…then next turn you move that pawn there, then, if you play well enough, you'll eventually be able to check my queen!"

Hermione sat across from Ron, rubbing her temples and nodding, her eyes focused on the screaming chess pieces. The two were sitting in their newly-furnished apartment, playing Wizard's Chess at Ron's insistence.

"Can we do something else?" groaned Hermione. "I feel strange sitting here playing games when we've only just moved in. I'll just clean a little…"

She made a movement as if to rise from her seat, but Ron grabbed her elbow and pulled her back down.

"Oi, just finish the game, would you?" he said. "Look, you really aren't doing so badly—"

"Ron," she sighed as she carelessly directed her remaining knight somewhere, anywhere. "I'm rubbish at this game."

He seemed not to hear her, and instead moved his bishop.

"Checkmate," he said.

* * *

It was March, somehow. Draco wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten here. How he'd _survived_.To March, all the way to March.

He looked at the calendar, just to be sure.

Yes, it was March. It had been nine months.

His advisor ambled past him, and Draco immediately grabbed some useless papers on his desk, shuffling them so as to feign the act of doing actual work so that he might come closer to being noted, yet again, the Ministry's Employee of the Month. He never wanted to stop working, never wanted to clear his head of the cases and hearings he reviewed. He was afraid of what thoughts would be left in his head if he did.

Usually he was focused, working robotically until closing time when one of his coworkers knocked kindly on his desk to drag him from his intense concentration. Sometimes when they would forget, Draco would continue to work until suddenly deciding that his eyes hurt—then he would realize with a start that the lights had been turned off hours ago and that everyone had gone home.

Gone home, of course, to their families. Draco would snicker at his own stupidity, then pack his briefcase and Apparate to Malfoy Manor.

Today, he was supposed to oversee a case. This was Draco's occupation—he, along with several other Ministry employees, was sent to oversee cases of lesser importance to the Ministry, ones that were granted hearings because of mere courtesy and general pity. As for this particular case, he wasn't sure who was involved, what the case concerned…he never made it a point to remember any details, and to be frank, he didn't rightly care. He was sure his secretary, Daphne, would have all of that ready for him.

Sure enough, he saw Daphne a few meters away chatting with another secretary. A small stack of notes was clutched in her polished fingernails.

"Miss Greengrass," Draco called lazily, "Could you stop your conversation for a moment and give me those papers?"

Daphne shrugged, walked over to Draco, and placed the papers on the corner of his desk. He had never quite gotten over the strangeness of working with her, his former Housemate. "Here, Draco," she said in a friendly tone, ignoring his scowl. "I think you'll find this case a little interesting…" Without another word, she flounced away.

Draco wasn't quite sure what she meant, but he knew that he had to be in the courtroom within six minutes. Grabbing the papers and stuffing them into his briefcase, he prepared himself to enter the lift. As the doors to the lift opened, Draco, in his hurry, accidentally knocked someone over who was attempting to exit—Draco's briefcase had hit the man directly in the stomach.

"My apologies, sir—" started Draco, but there was no need. As the man he'd knocked to the ground stood up and brushed himself off, Draco found himself staring at Ron Weasley.

"Oi, Malfoy," said Ron in a relieved tone. "You're hearing that case, aren't you? Good, see, listen, I know you're a prick, but you've got to—"

Draco shut the lift door, cutting off Ron's sentence. The elevator dropped down, down, down again, until a woman's transparent voice informed him that he had reached his destination.

The courtroom was empty enough, as usual. Draco took his seat next to Lisa Turpin, another former classmate. Draco sometimes mused that everyone from Hogwarts simply packed up their belongings after graduation and headed straight to the Ministry. Working here was like attending school for another year.

"Good afternoon, Draco," beamed Lisa. "Looks like we've got ourselves a case on House Elf rights. I personally take no interest, but oh, well…"

She smiled brighter and then pulled a Self-Inking quill out of her bag. Lisa was pleasant enough, Draco decided, but he would never be sure how she had managed to finagle such a prestigious Ministry position while Draco had been left to settle with second class.

As the Jurors across the courtroom began to end their conversations and prepare for the hearing, Lisa leaned over and whispered excitedly in Draco's ear, "Aren't you excited to see Hermione Granger again? I haven't heard from her in ages!"

Draco paled. "I—uh, what?"

"Oh, that's right, I forgot," giggled Lisa, the slightest blush visible on her cheeks. "You two never really did get along, did you? Well, no matter…Hogwarts is over now, you two should put aside your old differences! Oh, here she comes now…"

"I have to leave…" Draco muttered, and began gathering his things, but Lisa slapped him swiftly on the arm.

"Don't talk nonsense," she hissed. "We need you in order for us to finish this hearing! I don't want to be here, _either_!"

And so Draco sat there ever so rigidly as a mess of brown curls swept into the room, a stack of papers lodged under her arm. He wanted badly to become invisible, but she didn't even glance his way. Hermione sat down in her predetermined seat and began rifling through papers.

"State your name, please," Lisa said clearly.

Hermione looked up, a bit startled. Once her eyes met Lisa's, she relaxed slightly, but then she saw Draco. She stopped, her eyes not leaving his face, her hands frozen in their position of rearranging her notes.

"H-Hermione Granger," she managed to croak out, her eyes still locked on Draco's.

"Miss Granger," began Lisa, and Hermione snapped back to attention and looked at the former Ravenclaw. "I see here that you are suing on behalf of…of a _House Elf_."

Some mean-spirited snickers erupted from the Jurors' bench.

"That is correct," said Hermione firmly. "Moppy, who was not granted permission from her master to journey here with me this afternoon, would like to sue her aforementioned master for the murder of her brother, Plinky."

A dark-haired, unshaved man sitting on the opposite side of the room—Draco had to guess that he was the wizard in question—made an indignant noise and shook his head comically at the Jurors. As the whole courtroom burst into nervous laughter—who had ever heard of a House Elf suing its master, after all?—Hermione looked around desperately for support, but even Hannah was concealing giggles behind her hand. Draco knew exactly what they were thinking: that House Elves were property, personal property, and that the destruction of them was determined at the leisure of their owners. He could not bear to see Hermione's desperate face, glancing around for someone, anyone, who might help her to not feel so alone.

Finally, her eyes settled on him.

The memories rushed at him, he remembered everything he had tried so hard to forget… Checkers by darkness, the soles of their shoes touching, her playful remarks about his black silk pajamas… Nervously tugging at his collar, Draco stood up, gathered his things, and exited through the door.

He stood outside the courtroom, breathing. Just breathing. He closed his eyes, and for the first time since June, he let himself remember.

_Nothing's here. Nothing's real._

Stolen nights sitting in the corridor. A bottle of firewhiskey, a bottle of mulled mead. Checker pieces in a velvet bag. A kiss or three. The breaking dawn, waking them from their dreams. Everyone else's confusion. Their hate for each other, perpetual hate, hate so strong it turned into something else. Her smile. Merlin, her smile…

He wasn't sure what was happening to him. If he hated her then, why couldn't he hate her now? But he hadn't _really_ hated her…

Nothing's real…

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes, grasped the handle of his briefcase tighter still, and walked calmly and steadily down the hallway.

* * *

"Harry," said Hermione. "Harry, can we talk?"

Harry Potter looked up from his kitchen table and nodded, setting down his copy of _The Daily Prophet _and motioning for Hermione to sit with him. She obliged.

"Ginny let me in," Hermione explained quietly. "Harry, I…it's been almost a year, and I can't stop thinking about him."

Harry didn't say anything, only looked at her, his piercing green eyes unsure for a moment. Then he nodded. He shoved his hand deep into his robes, and pulled out a small object. Hermione bit her lip.

Harry swung his arm lightly and the object sailed her way. Without thinking or remembering that she was highly uncoordinated, Hermione reached out her own hand and somehow managed to catch it. She was afraid to look at it, but finally, she did.

The black checker piece sat peacefully upon her soft skin.

* * *

Through the glass walls Draco saw Ron Weasley leaned back in his Ministry chair, evidently certain he was ruler of the world, although surely, Draco thought, Weasley's position as a clerk in the Improper Use of Magic department meant the opposite of such. Draco had been passing by, off to deliver papers to Demeter Springett, the secretary in charge of organizing the details of the case he'd been working on, and on his way had seen the stupid ginger, surrounded by who appeared to be his coworkers, all wearing the same impressed expressions upon their faces.

_Weasley_.

Though he'd worked at the Ministry for almost a year, he had only seen Weasley a few times around the building or in the lift. They'd never talked, barely even looked at each other. Had today been a usual day, Draco would have completely ignored Weasley's presence and kept walking. But today, Draco felt something in his gut…

He heard laughter. Roaring laughter, some claps on the back. Quickly darting into a maintenance closet, he performed a Disillusionment Charm to the best of his ability; quite pleased with the result, he exited the closet and managed to slip into Weasley's office when another worker opened the door to enter. Draco was content to stand by the window, hanging on to Weasley's every word as a crowd of his co-workers gathered around, admiration in their eyes…

"Never thought you'd be the first one out of all of us!" A young man Draco recognized as Seamus Finnegan was speaking. "Blimey, she ain't bad looking either…"

Potter was there, too, leaned over on Weasley's desk, smiling at his best friend knowingly. Could it be Draco's imagination, or did he detect a hint of nervousness in Potter's face? A hint of disappointment? "Have you decided how and when you're going to ask her yet?" Potter asked.

Ron shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. "I was just going to…you know, take her out to a nice dinner, and things. Tomorrow night. I've got the ring and all, I just figure I'll need to set the mood."

Draco blanched, unsure of what to think. Weasley was going to propose? Weasley couldn't even damn well play checkers! He was panicked. Not wasting time, as he sensed there was about to be a subject change, he aimed his wand at Seamus and whispered, "_Imperio_."

Weasley did not seem to notice the glazed look Seamus had in his eyes as he asked, "To which restaurant are you taking her?"

The redhead grinned. "Expensive one, mate. Linamelle's."

There were several impressed whoops, and Weasley received several more pats on the backs and congratulatory shoves. As for Draco, he wanted to strangle the worthless ginger.

"_I don't think she loves anyone, you know." Draco heard his own voice inside his head. "She told me once she's not a huge fan of love."_

"_She loves _you,_" reasoned the voice of Ron Weasley._

Weasley, for all he cared, could shove his chess pieces up his freckled arse. Draco had not talked to Hermione in months, but that small fact didn't change a thing.

_She loves _you.

Of course she did. And he, her. There, he'd admitted it to himself. And he was sick of running from it, sick of pretending it never existed when it so very clearly had.

* * *

She'd never before felt so—so _blank_.

Or guilty, for that matter. Hermione let her thoughts shift back to seventh year to the night when she had left Draco standing alone on the third-floor corridor. She was never really one for regrets, but she most definitely regretted not being brave enough then to realize how important he was to her. And now here she was, sorting through her meager collection of earrings in preparation for her date with her boyfriend, Ron Weasley.

She chose a pair of simple pearls; they'd been her grandmother's. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek bun reminiscent of the Yule Ball those many years ago, and though in all honesty she didn't very much like having her hair like that, she'd decided to style it differently tonight to mirror the changes that were about to take place in her life. It was silly, she realized, but the thought comforted her. Hermione swiped on a quick coat of nude lipstick, then dropped the tube in her purse where it made a faint 'clunk' as it hit the plastic checker piece already there.

She had to do this right.

"Oi, Hermione, you ready yet?" Ron's fist came knocking at the door. He'd been waiting outside in the living room for about twenty-five minutes already while Hermione was getting dressed for dinner. For some reason, Hermione didn't feel bad about making him wait.

"Coming," she said softly. On the dresser next to her was the chess set with which she and Ron had played on the first day they moved in…all the pieces were set up nicely, and Hermione could hear them conversing amongst themselves.

Smiling apologetically, she picked up Ron's Queen and placed her on another square, leaving an empty space next to the King. She expertly ignored the Queen's protests and merely continued smiling. Her face had only the slightest trace of sadness.

"There," she explained. "Now we both belong somewhere other than where we are right now."

* * *

The restaurant was entirely too dim for Hermione's liking, and as she stared upwards at the ornately constructed crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, she bitterly and silently chastised herself for being here, in this situation, tonight. Ron's hand felt wrong as it grasped her own across the table. They were sitting, much to Hermione's dismay, towards the middle of the restaurant; sleek ivory candles floated above them, but their muted flames did not do much to brighten the atmosphere. Ron gently stroked Hermione's palm with his thumb.

Hermione bit her lip and steadily retracted her arm.

"Something wrong?" asked Ron with a confused look on his face.

"No," answered Hermione all too quickly. She immediately regretted saying so. Of course something was wrong. Of course everything was wrong. That's why she was here, wasn't it? To tell Ron the truth…

Her heart beat louder within her chest. She reached down and snapped her rubber hair tie against her wrist. The memories came flooding back, and the words came easier than she'd expected them too.

"Ron, I need to tell you something."

He furrowed his brows but said, "Alright."

"Ron, I—I've finally found what I've been looking for. I found it a while ago."

She mentally hexed herself as she saw Ron's eyes sparkle with the assumption that she was talking about him. She had to be more careful with her words…

"I was talking…about…about someone else…"

She couldn't look at him, even though she knew that he was staring at her in wide-eyed shock. How many times had she seen that look? Merlin, what was she doing? She'd known Ron…_forever_… He'd had that same look in his eyes when he'd knocked out that troll during first year, saving her life. He'd had that look when she'd slapped Malfoy third year, except back then the look was mixed with admiration. Now, it was only mixed with hurt—she didn't have to look at him to know.

"Ron?"

He didn't answer, only looked straight ahead past her with a stormy expression on his face. He was entirely set in stone, a heartbroken statue cracked at the corners of his eyes and chiseled with worried wrinkles across his face. His concrete lips parted only slightly, but his words seemed almost thunderous to Hermione.

"So you choose him."

"I—"

"Because he just makes you feel so special, am I right? He treats you like a proper princess, does he?" His sarcasm was bitter and biting.

Hermione blanched. "You know?" Her voice cracked.

His eyes were ice, frozen more by pain than by blind anger, but Hermione couldn't look at them regardless. She'd never seen him quite like this—every muscle in his body seemed to have surrendered; he was merely a shell. He'd lost his shine, his spark.

"'Course I know," Ron muttered simply. "I've known for a long time."

When Hermione's brow furrowed in confused thought, Ron continued.

"I've seen the way you look at me, Hermione, and it's not the same way you used to look at him. You two weren't very good at hiding things…I'd see you two, sometimes, sitting together on the grounds or walking to class together."

He looked at her, stared at her until she brought her eyes up to meet his. "I love you," Ron shrugged, his eyes leaking against his will. "But…I've known for a while that you love him. He talked to me about it once."

"Malfoy…talked to you? About what? About me?"

He only nodded. The dim candles cast the faintest glow of light around him, making him look considerably more disconsolate. Hermione shook her head, not believing.

"I knew this would happen one day," Ron admitted.

Hermione couldn't help the tears as they spilled down her cheeks, unwanted. A second later and they flowed freely; she was crying harder than she'd ever had, except for during that one particular night…

"I'm s-so sorry, Ron," she sputtered. "I shouldn't have done this. I-I _tried_. It's just that…well, I guess it makes sense…you, me, and Harry, right? We…we were best friends…and n-now…" She coughed violently to mask the wailing howl that was threatening to break free from within her. "Now he's got Ginny," she continued. "So it only made sense, naturally, for us to…"

"I think maybe that's what started this for me, too," muttered Ron. "Everyone expected it. And I do care about you a lot, Hermione…"

"I care about you too, Ron," Hermione interjected.

"So we care about each other," Ron said with subdued confidence. "We've got that much cleared up. I guess the question remains whether or not we were meant to."

Silence.

"So…this is it, then?" he asked. It was desperate question; he was begging her with every fiber of his being to tell him it wasn't so, it couldn't be so.

But Hermione had come here with a purpose, and though it pained her to do so, she had to be honest. "Yeah," she whispered. "This is it."

She watched the last of the light fade from his eyes; she watched his confidence shatter and his last hope disappear. It hurt to see him like this—she'd never seen _anyone_ so desolate, so helpless, so hurt…so lost. Heartbroken was the only way to describe him. His skin looked yellow under the candlelight—or maybe he was just extremely distressed. She could see the dried trails of tears etched on his face.

Then suddenly a certain image came to mind, and Hermione realized she'd been wrong when she'd said she'd never seen anyone quite like this. Because come to think of it, she had seen one other boy as heartbroken as Ron was now.

* * *

He was standing outside Linamelle's, his pale blond hair painfully obvious the backdrop of the night sky. He leaned stiffly against the carved wooden pillar just outside the door and looked disparagingly down at the pink and purple daisy mums planted in colorful bushes next to him. Draco wasn't sure why he was still waiting outside the restaurant. He'd come here under the basis of reckless heroism—he had to save Hermione from saying yes to Weasley's proposal and making the biggest mistake of her life. He had a clear view of them from his post, except for the fact that Hermione's back was to him, yet somehow he was still rooted to the spot.

Draco was a bit confused, though…Weasley looked troubled, like perhaps he'd been crying, and they had been sitting in the restaurant for half an hour without ordering anything. Draco was afraid that coming here tonight would sicken him to the stomach, seeing them act all friendly with each other, but it was quite the opposite…from what he'd seen, Weasley and Granger had simply been doing a lot of _talking_.

Suddenly, Granger stood up. Draco's eyes widened, but there was no way she could have seen him…

"Abort," he whispered to no one in particular. He was still unable to move, and she was heading towards the door, closing the space between them faster than Draco could continue whispering, "Abort…_shit_, abort…"

Draco ducked behind the pillar and shut his eyes at the very moment he expected her to walk past him, but nothing came. Confused, he opened his eyes and peeked; with a start, he realized that she was sobbing silently on the other side of the pillar, her head buried in her hands and thus unaware that Draco was there.

He watched in shock as she stopped crying long enough to reach into her bag and pull out a black checker piece. _His_ black checker piece. She sniffed pitifully, clasped it firmly in her fingers, and shut her eyes once more.

Draco swung himself back behind the pillar; they were on opposite sides again, and if Draco listened closely, he could hear the sounds of her anguished breaths. He wanted to hold her, to ask her what had happened.

_It's nighttime, after all, _he told himself, thinking back to their stolen moments in the third-floor corridor. _This is our time, anyway._

And, drawing in a breath so sharp it almost stung, Draco stepped out from behind the pillar, his arms swinging uselessly at his sides. He'd never been so at a loss for words…Draco Malfoy was always in control, but for some reason, _she_ always made him feel comfortably wrong, as if perhaps he didn't have to be the best at everything or the most dignified figure in the room.

"Granger," was all he could manage; it was only a whisper, but the minute the name left his lips, he realized he'd missed her. Merlin, he'd missed her.

So he told her.

"Granger, I've missed you," he said just a bit louder, and he could have sworn he saw her ears perk up at the sound of his voice. She seemed to turn in slow motion, her entire body rotating until her eyes met his. Brown curls whipped around as she stood there, staring at him. Her expression was unreadable. Those brown eyes, that soft-looking skin, the delicate arch of her eyebrows as she raised them in surprise; they were all so familiar yet so fantastically new, so fresh in his mind yet so beautifully foreign.

"M-Malfoy." He thought it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

A second later and she had closed the space between them, rested her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him as if she never wanted to let go. As for Draco, he never wanted this moment to end—this was just like June. This was just like that night of checkers, that night when she'd walked away and left him for Weasley, when she'd taken the easy way out instead of fighting for him.

Suddenly, Hermione seemed to come to her senses and quickly snapped upright again. "Malfoy," she began, "what on _earth_ are you doing here? Did…did you follow me?"

Draco nervously ran a hand through his hair. "No, I just…"

She cut him off. "How did you even know I was going to be here?" she asked, her face no longer tranquil but rather a storm steadily brewing. "Hm? Care to answer me, Malfoy? I suppose that's the least I can ask you to answer me; what about your behavior that day at the hearing, you just _walked out_, you useless prat—"

"I walked out?" Draco raised his voice in indignation, the color flushing to his cheeks. "I was the one who walked out? In case you've forgotten, Granger, you walked out on me nearly a year ago that night in the third-floor corridor!"

"That was _different_!" she hissed. "I was scared, Malfoy! So were you, don't you dare…and this hearing was important, I needed you…"

"_I_ NEED YOU!" yelled Draco, his face livid. "Bloody…" Draco clutched desperately at the pillar with one arm for support. "_I LOVE YOU, GRANGER, YOU PSYCHOPATHIC WOMAN!"_

She stood, speechless. Draco continued, taking deep breaths.

"I came here tonight because I heard Weasley telling all his mates at work that he was going to take you here tonight to propose to you, and I knew that I didn't want that, not in a million years, so I came to stop it." Draco stared her down. "Yeah. Weasley was going to ask you to marry him before you so rudely walked out on him. Why did you?"

"He…" Hermione seemed to be at a loss for words and ignored Draco's question. "He was going to propose? But how could you possibly…"

"If you want to go back in there and accept, be my guest," muttered Draco bitterly. "Go marry the mindless piece of dirt, what does it matter?"

"Don't call him that," protested Hermione, but weakly, as if out of habit, as if she didn't truly care any longer. "Prat," she muttered. "I can't believe you would ever—I mean, I—you really—Merlin…"

"Granger, shut the bloody hell up and say you love me too, alright?"

Hermione stood in front of him; they stared at each other, not moving.

"I know you're not a big fan of love," said Draco, "but I don't care. You don't have to be scared anymore, Granger, so stop being scared, would you, because it pisses me off when you run away."

Hermione bit her lip and breathed in deeply, closing her eyes, and the scent that seemed to follow him—she couldn't quite place it, but it fit nicely and nestled softly in her senses—surrounded her, and she was safe again. She was back at Hogwarts, back in the dead of the night in the deserted corridor playing checkers with the boy she hated…

Their eyes met.

The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched in a half-attempted smile, and he sighed. "Can you stop running?" he demanded in exasperation. "For the love of Merlin, Granger, I can't chase you forever."

She reached for his hand in response. The black checker piece rested between their interlocked fingers, and Draco felt an indescribable amalgam of emotions knowing that the red checker piece he'd Vanished a year ago was now floating around in the very air surrounding them, existing in everything.

"Am I supposed to tear up now?" asked Hermione quietly. "Do I fall into your arms and beg for your forgiveness? Do I tell you that I…that I don't _really_ hate you?"

"Naturally," Draco smirked. "But I was never one for protocol, Granger, seeing as I was never Head Boy…so maybe we should simply play a game of checkers."

She smiled, relieved, but then remembered something. "I still remember…" Hermione said carefully, "you know, what you said that night, when I said that nothing was here, that nothing was real. You said…that everything was here."

"Yeah? So what?"

"You really think everything's here, Malfoy?"

Time stood still, if only for a brief moment. Draco shrugged lightly, waved a dismissive hand and said, "We're here, Granger."

**-fin.**


End file.
